


A Patchwork Family: Huan's Dreme

by Lbilover



Series: A Patchwork Family Series [15]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: Huan dreams of his past.





	A Patchwork Family: Huan's Dreme

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a little different from others in this universe, and in it you will learn about Huan's life before he found Frodo. Therefore a little angst warning is in order, though Huan and I hope you will persevere to the happy end!! Originally written in 2014 for a friend's birthday.

  


~*~

The dream always begins the same: a long dusty road stretches out before me, hard beneath my sore paws. The yellow sun beats down from overhead but there is no shelter, nor water to quench my thirst. I want to stop, to flop down in the shade of a tree or bush and rest my weary limbs, or seek out a flowing stream in which to stand and cool my paws and drink my fill. But something drives me on, ever on. I will get no rest, no food or drink, until I find what it is that I seek: my home and my master.

Just when it seems I can walk no further, the dream changes. The long dusty road disappears and in its place I see golden plains that stretch as far as my keen-sighted eyes can see. I am carefree, first gamboling with my sisters and brothers in a pen, then racing wild as the wind across the plains. Fleetest of foot I am, without peer, and so they call me ‘silver heels’ in their tongue, and treat me with reverence. But I long for a master of my very own to love and serve. My brothers and sisters are chosen and taken away by those who visit. But I am never chosen, no matter how hopefully I look at them, these stern but kindly Men. Then one day I am bathed, and a collar of gold inlaid with green stones is placed around my neck. They take me to the King in the Golden Hall. He is to be my master, they say. I tremble with excitement.

_Here is the one for whom we have long waited, lord. In him does the blood of Huan of Valinor run true._

_Then let us hope no wizard with a pressing need for rabbit comes along to claim him._ The King’s eyes are dull, disinterested. He smells of decay, like one not far from death. _Return him to the kennels._

A man, pale and wizened, sits at the King’s feet. His eyes are sharp, cunning. They study me, and I do not like the look in them. Though I have been treated always with kindness, and know no fear of Men, instinct tells me here is one who cannot be trusted. His eyes follow me as I am led away.

The dream fades and changes to the dark of a moonless night. In the kennel, we are wakened by the presence of unfamiliar Men, who speak too softly and move too furtively. Unease fills us, and we whine and pace the deep straw, troubled without understanding why. A muffled cry is followed by the sharp scent of blood, and then silence.

My kennel door is opened. _This is the one,_ a soft voice says. A blanket is thrown over me so that I cannot see or move Arms lift me, not gently.

_My lord Saruman will be pleased with this gift. Very pleased. Go now. Ride swiftly._

_Yes, Lord Gríma._

~~~

Bewildered, confused, I am carried league upon league on horseback, until the golden fields are left behind and we enter a land unknown to me and pass beneath towering trees that shut out the light of the sun. Ever am I watched and confined by a rope about my neck, given no chance to escape and return to my home.

The dream shifts. Bowstrings sing. Arrows fly out of the darkness. The man who carries me cries out and slumps forward onto the horse’s neck. A sudden fire burns along my ribs. The horse bolts and I am thrown free, twisting in midair to land on my feet. Strange creatures that are like Men but somehow not, rush out of the darkness. They smell… wrong. My fur stands on end and instinct tells me to run. So I do; ignoring the pain in my side, I run faster than I have ever run in my life. I run until I have left them far behind, until no whisper of their scent can be found.

And then, exhausted, I stop. I am alone now, and I am lost. I cannot find my way back to the golden fields and the only home I have ever known.

~~~

Into the dream then come the creak of harness leather and the rumble of cartwheels. They rouse me from my slumber in the deep grasses that line a rutted, winding road I discovered after endless lonely days of wandering the woods, hunting rabbits and licking at my wounded side until it heals. I rise, shake, and creep cautiously from my nest and onto the road.

The Man driving the cart sees me and pulls his horse to a stop. _Well, here’s a bit of luck, first I’ve had in months. Where’d you come from then, eh? Not that it matters. Finder’s keepers, that’s a tinker’s motto._ He jumps down and walks slowly toward me. I go to meet him, and wonder if this is the master for whom I have longed. He grins. _You’ll have to earn your keep and do as you’re told, or you’ll feel the back of me hand or the heel of me boot. I don’t hold with spoiling dogs._

I have a master. But his hand is heavy and his voice harsh. I serve him out of hunger and fear, but never love.

~~~

The dream grows dark. I yearn for a kind voice and gentle touch and an end to my wandering.

~~~

One day we come upon a great crowd of Men, marching down the road.

 _Where you lot heading, then?_ my master asks, drawing rein.

_A place called the Shire. They say it’s a rich land, ripe for plundering, and we aim to get our share of the spoils._

_Is that dog for sale?_ Another man asks. _We could use a good rabbiter._

A greedy light appears in my master’s eyes. _There’s none better than old Blue here. He might be available… for the right price._

_Scrawny little thing, ain’t he. Looks like he’s seen better days._

_Ain’t we all._

Raucous laughter assails my sensitive ears. I cringe, and my master cuffs me.

_Well, there will be better days aplenty in this Shire place, or so we’ve heard._

Men are not straightforward, like dogs. My master and the Men go back and forth, arguing over a price for me, until they settle on one at last. And so my life changes again, and I am helpless to prevent it. Not that I would. My master watches me go with indifference, counting the pieces of copper and silver in his hand, and I do not look back.

~~~

The dream shifts again. I stand at the top of a rise, gazing out across fields of green and gold. The Shire. I am drawn to this land, like to my home, but gentler. The hills are rounded with no sharp peaks blinding white in the sun.

It smells… right. The way a home should smell. But overall is a pervasive scent of fear that comes from the small people who live here. Hobbits, they are called. The Men turn the hobbits from their homes, cut down trees, burn buildings and carry off all they can find.

The hobbits seem timid and shy, like me, only I sense no welcome in their frightened eyes when they look at me, cowering among the Men. They have their own troubles, and no interest in mine.

The Men are carelessly indifferent to me. Quick with a cuff if I don’t obey at once, quick with a ‘good lad’ if I bring a rabbit back for the pot. There is no one among them who wants to be my master. They are more concerned with eating and drinking and destroying.

A day comes when I hear a war horn’s call. It stirs memory in my heart and mind, of the vast golden plains and riders on horseback. I raise my head and quiver at the sound, so bright and brave. The Men laugh and jest about little folk getting uppish and what good sport it will be to put them in their place and send them to the Lockholes. They march off, leaving me behind, shut up in a room, and they do not return.

Endless hours I wait, and in the air I smell a change like a great wind that blows the fear away. Hunger at last drives me to desperation and I claw and chew at the wooden door until I’m able to squeeze beneath it and escape my prison.

The Men are all gone. No trace of them remains that I can smell or see. But hobbits are everywhere, busy as bees. One of them sees me as I walk along the street and points.

_That dog belonged to them Men. I recognise ‘im._

_Let’s drive ‘im away then. He’ll be vicious, I warrant._

The quick flick of a wrist takes me by surprise and the stone stings as it hits me. Others follow, and I bolt. I escape into the woods, and there I live by my wits and hunting skill. But the cold of winter drives me to seek shelter in barns, and I catch mice when I can, and grow lean and starved. I curl up in the straw through the long winter nights, and dream of spring and the warmth of the sun on my back. Most of all, I dream of a home of my own, and a kind master who will love me.

Spring comes, and I am hungry. Though I know it is dangerous, I make my way to a town that lies beside a great pool of water. I crave food, but even more, I crave the presence of others. A dog cannot forever live alone. I am drawn to the hobbits. My heart yearns toward them. Though they chase me away and call me names, I always return. Somewhere among them is my master. I feel it in my bones. But I do not know where to find him.

~~~

The long dusty road stretches out before me, hard beneath my sore paws. But at its end a light has appeared, and I hurry toward it. As I come closer, I see that the light comes from a hobbit, stepping outside the Inn where I have been hiding in the shadows. He doesn’t see me, but I follow him, entranced by the light that shines from him, like the sunlight on the roof of the Golden Hall in my long ago home.

_Here now, get away from my shop, you dirty thing. Scare away my custom, you will._

I almost don’t see the baker run from his shop, flapping his apron, and aim a kick at me. At the last moment, I dodge his foot and leap out of the way, and take shelter behind the hobbit. Instinctively I know he will protect me.

_There’s no call for such behaviour, Wil. It’s only a dog._

The hobbit is angry, but not at me. _Not at me._ A thrill of recognition sweeps through me. This is the one for whom I have been waiting. In that moment, I give him my yearning heart and all the devotion I have to give.

_Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo, but that there dog is a nuisance; allus hanging about lately he is, climbing in the dustbins and stealing food. He’s naught but a stray and no use to anyone. Everyone in Bywater will tell you the same, sir. I’m not the only one as has chased him away._

And then my master looks down at me. I know his eyes, for they are like mine: filled with weariness and the memory of loss and hunger and pain. _I will care for you, Master,_ I try to tell him with my eyes, and I wag my tail to show I’m in earnest.

_If he’s stealing food, it’s because he’s starving. I know a bit about how it feels to go hungry, Wil, and I won’t have it here in the Shire, not even for a stray dog. Have we not had enough of cruelty and neglect? I’d hoped that sort of behaviour had disappeared with Sharkey’s Men._

_You’re right, Mr. Frodo, and I beg your pardon, I’m sure. As for the dog, I suppose I could spare him a bite to eat from what we didn’t sell this morning._

The baker has no love for me, but before my master's goodness he is shamed. Pride fills me, greater than when I wore a golden collar and was promised a King to be my master.

_That won’t be necessary, Wil, although I do appreciate the offer. I’ll be taking the dog home with me._

Home. The magic word has been spoken that removes all hunger, all weariness, all loneliness, forever.

The dream always ends the same: Frodo sets off at a walk, and I trot obediently at his heels as if my place has always been there. All around us pours golden light, rich and warm as honey, and the road is soft and kind beneath my paws.

I am going home at last.

~end~


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